Graves Pact (Landon Graves Book 1)

by Matthew Stinson

  “You’d be surprised what I can do,” my patron murmured. “It might be worth the trouble. What’s one well-placed thrall and a few plots ruined compared to the ecstasy I’ll have?”

  I was terrified that I’d completely overestimated my worth to the creature. The panic made concentrating difficult. But that was the point, I realized. Whatever the truth of his statement might have been, Alastor wanted to remain in control. Giving into the anger I felt welling up would be playing right into my patron’s hands.

  Then get on with it, I said as calmly as I could pretend to be. I’d think a lord of Hell might have more important things to do with its time besides getting off. Is that how you rose through the ranks of your peers? I wonder what they’d do in your place.

  My body stopped moving. Alastor flung Mendoza against the brick wall like a rag doll. Hate and rage threatened my strategy as I saw her lying bonelessly.

  “You play a dangerous game, Landon. Invoking my ire is unwise. We’ll be spending a great deal of time together when you come home to Hell. Think on that.”

  Oh, I never stop thinking about it.

  He snorted a laugh. “Very well then. On to business.”

  I tried not to think about Mendoza lying unconscious on the sidewalk as we walked away. There would be one hell of an argument later, but we’d both be alive to have it.

  We walked a few blocks before we saw anyone and my patron used the Voice to convince that unfortunate man to give us his car. We drove the Stanza to the nearest strip mall, clearly what I had in mind as a destination for a lord of Hell. Alastor led us into the first open business, a drycleaners run by a balding Asian man. He seemed surprised to see us, but I supposed my body wasn’t looking its best with all the blood, grime, and dirt on my suit.

  “You don’t mind if I use your phone. I’ll only be a few minutes,” Alastor said.

  The storeowner started to protest, but the words died in his throat. His eyes grew distant as he looked down and away. With a half-hearted gesture, he pointed to the old rotary phone hanging on the wall near him.

  “My thanks,” the devil said as he moved my body behind the counter.

  I tried to follow what number he dialed, but Alastor kept his eyes on the door. The phone rang and someone answered in what I thought was French. Alastor responded in the same language and I was lost as to what was said.

  The conversation lasted a few minutes. When he finished, Alastor picked a new coat from the finished orders, tore off the plastic, and changed out of my filthy, tattered coat. It was a much nicer brand than I could afford. Satisfied, Alastor walked us back to the stolen car and got in.

  Sick of being idle, I asked, What was all that about?

  Alastor sighed. “You don’t know how much I wish I could give you more responsibility. You have such potential. I’ve given you this power, but you don’t even know how to use it. Not even for your misguided purposes.”

  Power corrupts—

  “Oh, enough of that,” he groaned. “I don’t have time to explain the fallacies on which your narrow view of morality is based.”

  You’re pretty busy for a supposedly eternal being.

  Alastor didn’t deign to respond to my comment or any of my other provocations. He drove to the post office and spent an hour writing letters in some infernal script, politely convincing the employees to let us stay past closing time. I complained about the postage as Alastor sent manila envelopes to the far corners of the world using my cash to pay.

  As we exited the building, he said, “You could choose to live in luxury. You have the skills and the power to do so. You need only use them.”

  I was pretty good at forensic accounting. I came across some huge accounts during my regular investigations: cartels, Ponzi schemes, insider-trader funds. The courts seized much of that money or it was lost anyway. I could probably have siphoned off a few million a year. I might have even avoided getting caught, since I knew what investigators looked for. That kind of greed and abuse was what Alastor wanted.

  Go to hell.

  “I am in Hell,” he said with mild irritation. “I never left. But part of me is here and I think it’s time to enjoy this little vacation.”

  Alastor drove to the Hotel Monaca and checked in under a name I didn’t recognize. Luckily, the room was already paid for. My bank accounts could only take so much of a beating. My patron asked for anything being held for us and the concierge brought him a dark leather briefcase.

  We rode the elevator to the tenth floor and entered room twelve. Alastor set the briefcase on the bed before making a call. That time it was in English and I didn’t like what I heard at all.

  “Yes, I’m interested in a companion,” Alastor said into the receiver. “Deborah comes highly recommended. Yes, I’ll pay extra. No, cash is fine. It’s not a problem.”

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  The man on the other end asked for the location and Alastor gave it. I griped and moaned about what he was doing, but I remembered that we didn’t have any significant amount of cash left on our person after our trip to the post office. I fell silent as I puzzled out my patron’s game.

  Half an hour passed before the knock came at the door, the quick response surprising me. Deborah, as Alastor called her, must have worked out of the hotel or very close by. I figured my patron already knew that, choosing the hotel for that very purpose.

  Alastor opened the door and welcomed the woman in cordially. At first sight, she was stunning; a long-legged blonde with slender features, tone legs, and a full bust. But the longer I watched, the more I saw.

  The prostitute was older than the thick make-up led one to believe. It almost hid the crow’s feet and bags under her eyes. Her sensual smirk didn’t vary, as if it was so well practiced that she couldn’t change it.

  She dressed like a business professional, though her suit fit too well. Her skirt hugged her slim hips and rode too high to be work-appropriate. With her hair in a twisted bun and her in tall heels, she was like an office worker’s wet dream.

  My patron removed her coat in a gentlemanly fashion. Beneath was a silky white blouse with a plunging neckline. Alastor offered her a drink which she declined politely. She’d brought a small stereo that she set down, turning on smooth instrumental music. I assumed it was supposed to create the mood.

  As my patron played the game where he assured her we were not a cop and we weren’t about to chop her into little pieces, I squirmed in my mental prison. God knew what kind of venereal diseases Alastor would contract that I’d be forced to live with. I was sure that was just the kind of thing that would tickle the devil’s fancy.

  They finished chatting and Deborah instructed us to sit down and enjoy the show. The music changed and she began strutting about and dancing in calm, deliberate motions that accentuated her limber form. After a few minutes, her hair was down and she was without skirt or blouse.

  When Alastor spoke, my voice sounded so smug I wanted to roll my eyes. I couldn’t believe anyone would give my patron the time of day. I supposed the arrogance appealed to a certain kind of person. Maybe I just knew the devil better by then.

  “I wondered what you looked like,” Alastor said as the prostitute continued her slow striptease. “After so much… correspondence, I admit I formed an image. It pleases me that you don’t disappoint.”

  She missed a step, but somehow maintained balance in the four inch heels. “I think you’ve got the wrong person. I’m not pen pals with anyone.”

  I felt like I was watching cheesy porn on Skinemax. Sure, the woman was undeniably attractive in a damaged sort of way. Seeing her caress herself as she did would’ve boiled my blood had I been in charge of my body, but the grainy, home-movie quality projection I watched seemed to protect me from those primal urges. I lamented that the strip show was the most action I’d gotten in over a year. Focus, Landon.

  “You’re mistaken,” Alastor said. “I’ve listened to your most fervent pleas. I’m finally here to answer them… for
a price.”

  I almost dismissed what my patron said as some kind of nausea-inducing foreplay. Then I realized the devil wasn’t here to get off. He was recruiting. Alastor wanted Deborah to be another of his thralls, a witch in his service.

  “Tonight isn’t about me. It’s about you,” she said seductively, dropping her bra after deftly unclasping it with one hand. “Tell me what you want.”

  “I want you,” Alastor replied. “Mind, body, and soul.”

  She played along, her voice throaty and sensuous. “I’m yours all night, baby.”

  “That simply won’t do,” Alastor said, confusing the woman. “I need you for much longer. I have a business proposition for you.”

  I could tell she was irked by my patron spoiling the mood. “I don’t do regulars. I’m more of a one-night stand type of girl.”

  “You misunderstand me,” he replied. “As enticing as your flesh is, that’s not the reason I called you.”

  Then why didn’t you get to the point right off? I asked the darkness around me, knowing Alastor heard me. I guessed that my patron equated nudity with vulnerability. He wanted her off guard and ill-prepared for what he planned.

  “I’m here to promote you,” the devil said.

  Her face told me that she didn’t get it. To her, Alastor was just another obsessive John. She stood there in a thong and heels trying to figure it out. I begged Alastor, Get on with it.

  “Promote me to what?” she asked. “I can’t just quit. It doesn’t work like that.”

  “Your panderer won’t be a problem after tonight,” Alastor said. “You’ll be in charge of this little enterprise.”

  She laughed out loud. Alastor sat quietly and waited for her to finish. She went to retrieve her shirt, putting it on without buttoning. She began to gather the rest of her clothing, sensing that we no longer required her services.

  “What would you give to be out from under his thumb? To have his power and so much more? To be free of this fruitless life? Isn’t that what you’ve been praying for?”

  Deborah stopped cold and stared at us. “How did you… Are you some kind of rich guy? You can’t just buy me. What could you do anyway?”

  I could feel Alastor’s smug satisfaction. She’d stopped to listen. My patron had just won. It was only a matter of semantics after that. I hated the sense of déjà-vu it evoked. Alastor had been more delicate with me, spending days to warm me up to the pact.

  “Call your flesh-peddler and tell him to come here. Give him whatever excuse will bring him,” Alastor commanded subtly. “Open my suitcase when you finish with your call.”

  Picking up the phone, the prostitute dialed a short number, showing that her pimp was in another room of the hotel. “Hey, it’s me. Yeah. I need help. He… won’t pay.”

  She hung up and looked at us with anxiety written all over her face. I saw my hand come into my field of vision and motion toward the briefcase. The woman strutted over to it, not in an intentionally sensual way, but a gait forced on her by the heels. She paused for a moment before opening it.

  I knew there wasn’t much time before the pimp showed up with whatever muscle he had on retainer. Sure that Alastor could handle a few normals, I was more concerned about how thorough the cleanup would be. I wouldn’t have put it past my patron to leave the bodies for me as another “test” of my resourcefulness.

  Deborah finally opened the briefcase, her face a mix of confusion and relief at the sight of the thick stack of paperwork contained therein. “What’s this?”

  “Most of an agreement,” Alastor said. “The final details are yet to be determined.”

  “What’s it got to do with me?” she asked. “Nevermind. Frankie will be here soon and he’s going to put a hurting on one of us. Maybe both of us.”

  Alastor shook my head. “Frankie will be otherwise occupied. I know what you want, deep in your heart. I’m here to grant your wishes, your desires. If you sign that document, I’ll make it happen.”

  She stared bewildered and frightened, her concern for the immediate threat of her approaching pimp. Attempting to hustle in her shoes proved futile, but she tried anyway. She only made it halfway across the room before the sound of a key sliding into the lock stopped her in her tracks.

  Alastor stood my body up, straightened our stolen coat, and faced the newcomers. Frankie grinned like a sociopath when he saw us. It must have been the highlight of his night to rough up a troublesome John.

  The pimp wore a white sports coat over a baby blue shirt with sleeves rolled up. A gold chain hung from his neck. He looked like he made his fashion choices based off of Miami Vice.

  “Do you not understand how this works?” he asked innocuously, like a frat boy chiding a freshman. “You order a service. You pay for the service. You get the service. Why are you wasting my time?”

  He motioned his hired muscle toward Alastor. The guy that came into the room after him was huge, his extra-large black tee tight around his neck, arms, and chest. His look screamed Scandinavian biker. I was glad I didn’t have to deal with him. My patron didn’t flinch in the slightest.

  “Go into the bathroom and ignore everything you hear until I summon you,” Alastor commanded. Again, the devil used the Voice flawlessly, ordering instead of suggesting.

  The pimp laughed, but the thug went vacant-eyed and headed for the bathroom. Frankie called after him, getting agitated when the thug didn’t respond. He rounded on us, pulling out a silver plated pistol from an underarm holster.

  “Drop it,” Alastor said.

  Frankie seemed surprised as he complied, staring at me in wide-eyed disbelief as Alastor walked my body over to him. I watched my hand shoot out and take the pimp by the throat, lifting him with supernatural strength. Deborah witnessed it with silent shock, a hand covering her mouth.

  “You see,” Alastor said. “Frankie is nothing. A worm to us. Tell me what you want. Sign the document and it’s a done deal.”

  Not subtle at all, I muttered, actually surprised at my patron’s lack of finesse, but I saw his game here. Deborah was too scared to think things through. Too bad there was nothing in the cosmic rules that prevented pacts from being signed while under duress.

  Uselessly, I screamed a warning. I tried to tell her to stop and think about it. Though the circumstances were different, the blend of fear, hope, and desire overpowered her rational brain just as they had mine that day five years ago.

  “I… I don’t know what I want,” she squeaked out fearfully, her eyes glued to Frankie’s reddening face.

  “Use your imagination,” Alastor said. “It’s one of your kind’s greatest gifts. Make me an offer. How about… eternal youth and health? Looks to make men worship you? The power to destroy people like Frankie?”

  The pimp thrashed about, striking my face and arm ineffectually. Spittle frothed from his lips as he struggled for air. Veins bulged in his temples and his eyes started to roll back.

  “Yes! Yes!” she responded. “Just make him go away.”

  “In return,” Alastor said calmly as Frankie’s feet went still, “I want you to take over this man’s operations. Expand them. The details are in the document along with a few other provisions. If this is agreeable, sign.”

  I muttered a string of profanity. If I had known a little more, I’d have gotten a better deal on my end of the pact. Of course, if I’d known more, I’d have told Alastor to shove his pact up his scaly ass. I wish she could do as I hadn’t. I wished she refused Alastor.

  She didn’t.

  Deborah signed the pact before Frankie’s feet stopped twitching.

  Alastor dropped the fresh corpse and retrieved the man’s gun before turning to the bathroom. The thug faced us as the door opened, a sudden realization that things weren’t right lighting a fire in his eyes. He went for his gun, but my patron reacted faster. Surging forward with inhuman speed, my hand slapped the butch man in the forehead and pushed him back. The force knocked him into a sitting position on the toilet.

&nb
sp; When my palm came away, I saw the red-white magical symbol that marked him as a special kind of Damned soul. He bore Alastor’s mark. Though the glyph itself wasn’t fatal, I doubted he had long to live. Alastor would get the soul he had just claimed.

  “You see, Landon?” Alastor asked. “Here I am, doing you another favor. This counts as your soul for the month.”

  The glowing rune faded from the thug’s forehead. His soul, already damned for past deeds, belonged to Alastor now. I had no idea what my patron used them for once he got them, but I had a feeling it was nothing good. I was in no hurry to find out.

  When we came back out, I saw that Deborah had gone to her knees, sitting against the side of the bed. She trembled in terror, unable to take her eyes from Frankie’s body. She shirked away from Alastor as we approached, but her expression seemed more awe than terror. I saw the signature on the top of the stack of over six hundred pages.

  “No more of that,” my patron said sternly, like a parent scolding a child. “This is your last night as one of the weak. You have a great deal to learn. Study the pact. When we speak next, I expect you to be in charge of the flesh that man peddled.”

  My patron handed her Frankie’s pistol. She stared up like some lost little girl. I recognized the look. Deborah realized the weight of what she’d just done, what she’d given up. I felt sorry for her.

  Without another word, Alastor grabbed the dead pimp by the ankle and headed for the bathroom. The thug scrambled out of our way, stumbling into the hallway. Alastor ignored him, continuing into the cramped bathroom. The devil fiddled with the plug and filled the tub with an inch or two of water.

  Lifting Frankie effortlessly, my patron dropped the body as strange arcane words left my lips. The body splashed down and disappeared, cast into one of the nether realms through the Borderline of air and water. I guessed I was relieved because those were my prints on Frankie’s neck, my skin under his nails.